The Lady of the Soaps
by Ryth76
Summary: Lurtz must travel to the woods of Lothlorien to destroy the One Soap in the Mirror of Galadriel with the help of eight other orcs. A LotR parody. Prologue now fixed! Note: On hiatus. Hopefully not forever...


_**A/N: Okay, here's another story from my old account. It's a role-reversal comedy where an orc (Lurtz) must destroy the One Soap. Parodies the Lord of the Rings canon. *fixed*  
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**Prologue**

_The World has changed. I feel it in the mud. I feel it in the rocks. I smell it in the fumes. Much that used to be is lost because those stinking elves keep running around and killing the older, stronger orcs. Now no one remembers whatever it is because they're all a bunch of maggot babies._

**The Lady of the Soaps  
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_It began with the forging of the Soaps of Power. Three evil-smelling soaps were given to the Mordor lords, oldest and strongest of all the Shadow. Seven to the goblins, great plunderers and craftsmen of the stolen mountain-halls. And nine, nine sweet soaps were given to the race of the Wise who, above all else, desire good smells. For within these soaps was the power to cleanse. But they were all of them deceived, for another Soap was made. In the land of Lothlorien, in the mirror of Galadriel, the Lady of the Wood forged in secret a master Soap and into this Soap she poured in her laughter and her goodness and her will to cleanse all Mordor. One Soap to cleanse them all._

The evil queen of light laughed and her voice sounded like sparkling waters full of cruel stars.

_One by one, the free people of Mordor fell to the power of the Soap. But there were some who resisted. A Last Alliance of trolls and orcs marched their way into the golden wood and there on the border of Galadriel's tree, they fought for the freedom of Mordor._

The evil elves rushed at them with horrible flashing bows and knives. Sharku shouted orders from his warg and black arrows shot into the ranks of the hideous pale elves. Their lines crashed together and chaos erupted. An elf fell beneath the goblin-king, and the mighty orc-lord skewered him. The uruk-king lifted up his head in a triumphant roar.

_Victory was near… but the power of the Soap could not be undone._

The horrible, glittering figure of Galadriel herself strode into battle, her terrible phial in her hand and the Soap hanging from her horrible slender neck. The orcs and trolls cowered before her. She shouted the most horrible words they ever had heard.

_A Elbereth Gilthoniel_

_O menel palan-diriel_

_Le nallon sí di'nguruthos!_

_A tiro nin, Fanuilos!_

And the glass in her hand lit up the sky, blinding the orcs and trolls nearest her. She swung her arm out, thrusting the light into their eyes. They screamed and fell, clawing their eyes. The uruk-king dashed forward, and the glass itself crashed into his brow, burning his brow and slaying him with its sharp light. Latgakh saw and rushed over to his dead father's side with a shriek of rage.

_It came to pass that, when all hope failed, Latgakh, son of the uruk-king, took up his father's scimitar._

Galadriel stepped on the blade. Latgakh yanked on it so hard that it broke up to the hilt. He leapt up and slashed the Soap off her neck. Galadriel screamed, suddenly overcome by the power of the three Mordor soaps and fled back into the elven city.

_Galadriel, the enemy of the people of Mordor, was defeated. The Soap passed to Latgakh, who had this one chance to destroy good forever. But the hearts of uruks are easily cleaned, and the Soap of Power has a will of its own._

Latgakh was riding to his summer home in Núrn when he was attacked by a horrible band of elves. He watched his men be slaughtered and quickly took the Soap from his pocket and washed his face. He vanished, leaving the scent of sweet roses, and quickly headed for the hills. The Soap slipped out of his hands. The elves saw and fired. Latgakh fell dead.

_It betrayed Latgakh to his death. And some things, which should not have been forgotten, were lost…_

The Soap tumbled down the hillside and dropped into a gopher hole.

_History became legend; legend became myth and for three and a half thousand years, the Soap passed out of all knowledge. Until, when chance came, it ensnared a new bearer._

The hand opened, revealing the Soap. "My Preciousss…"

_The Soap came to the man Strider, who took it into the wilderness. And there it consumed him._

"Bath Sunday, Monday, Tuesday… everyday! It came to me! It will last forever! My perfect soap!" The Dunedain looked up with a jolt from his bathtub. He looked back at the beautiful, sweet smelling bar.

_The Soap gave to Strider unnatural good scent. For forty years it cleansed his body. Light crept into the forest of the world, rumors told of a beam in the west; whispers of a nameless terror, and the Soap of Power perceived its time had now come. It abandoned Strider, but something happened then that the Soap did not intend. It was picked up by the most unlikely people imaginable. A wizard! Saruman of Isengard._

"What's this? Soap?" The wizard shrugged and slipped it into his pocket.

_For the time would soon come that Isengarders would shape the fortunes of all._

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**A/N: I changed the first line a bit more this time. It was too... canon. Seriously, an orc would never go, "Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it." It's too... elvish. Not to mention, overly serious and exactly the same as in the movie.**_

Next: A Long-Expected Carousal


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